University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE HERMIT.

THE wretched hovel we had thus entered unbidden, contained
at the moment no person but ourselves. It was a
miserable affair indeed—being constructed of sticks and
turf, and built against a large rock, which formed one of
its sides. In two or three places the turf of the walls had
crumbled away, forming those crannies through one of
which we had seen the light. There was no chimney, and
no outlet besides the door.

The bushes surrounding this singular structure had been
left untouched; and they grew so high and so close, that
one might have ridden past in broad daylight, without discovering
the shanty at all, or even suspecting that nature
was not sole master of the ground.

The interior was in keeping with all the rest. Besides
the slab table and its primitive lamp, there were a couple
of three-legged stools, a box, a kettle, a gourd, and on
some wooden pegs hung a few coarse garments; while in
one corner was a litter of dried grass, which probably
formed the bed of its strange occupant.

But who could this occupant be? and why did he or
she live thus isolated? Doubtless some anchorite, I
thought, who, having renounced the world, and wishing
never more to commune with the human race, had secreted
himself on our approach, to remain hidden till our
departure.

I communicated this idea to Clara, who, as she

glanced timidly around, exclaimed, in a low, nervous
tone:

“I shall thank Heaven if the owner of this abode turn
out to be nothing worse. Ha! hark!” she said, catching
hold of me, and trembling with terror. “I hear steps!—
some one comes!—oh, God! protect us!”

As she spoke, I heard a rustling of the bushes. Stepping
in front of Clara, I drew one of my revolvers, and,
keeping it out of sight, faced the door, ready for peace or
strife, as the case might be.

At this moment the skin was thrust quickly aside, and
a flash of lightning, that almost blinded me, displayed the
outlines of a tall figure standing in the entrance. Then
came a crash of thunder, that made the ground quake
under me; and instinctively Clara threw her arms around
me, with a cry of terror. I grasped my weapon firmly,
and kept my eyes fixed on the stranger.

For a few moments he silently regarded us; and then,
as the roar of the thunder died away, he said, in a clear,
sonorous tone:

“Peace be between us!”

“Amen! with all my heart!” returned I.

The stranger then advanced into the room; but as he
came near the light, so that Clara could see him distinctly,
she uttered another cry of fear, and clung still
closer to me, as if for protection.

Nor was I myself very favorably impressed with the
appearance of the stranger, as I surveyed him for a
moment by the dim light; and notwithstanding his peaceful
language, I by no means felt disposed to throw aside
my weapons and regard him as a harmless friend.

In height he was not much short of six feet—thin and
gaunt—all bone and muscle. His face was long, pale,
and cadaverous; and his large, black eyes, which seemed

to roll restlessly in their hollow sockets, had a wild, unsettled
expression. Over the eyes were large, bushy
brows, with a broad, high forehead, which, compared with
the rest of the face, most of whose muscles were working
in some manner, seemed to remain in grave repose, as if
conscious it contained a master intellect. The nose was
long, of the Roman type, and the mouth very large, with
thick, projecting lips.

It was difficult to tell, after long and close study, what
were the predominant propensities of this singular being;
but it struck me, even at a cursory glance, that in him the
animal and the intellectual warred for the mastery; and
that in spite of reason and conscience, the former too
often obtained a temporary victory. It was not a face I
could wish near me under favorable circumstances, and I
felt I could now have dispensed with it without a regret.

Not the least singular part of this strange being was his
dress; and this, I think, had as much to do with the
fears of Clara, as the look he bestowed upon her. From
the neck to the knees reached a long, loose frock or gown,
made of bear-skin, dressed with the hair on, which was
worn outside. This had a belt around the waist, but was
without ornament or sleeves. A skull-cap of the same
material, which fitted close to the head, and concealed the
natural hair, if there were any, completed his attire. Not
a single other garment, that I could discover, had he on;
and his long, bony arms, hands and feet were entirely
bare.

In the belt around his waist was carelessly stuck a long
hunting knife, and this appeared to be his only weapon.
A large cup, which he placed on the table, containing
water, led me to infer that he had just returned from
filling it at the creek.

“Well,” he resumed, looking hard at both of us, but

letting his eyes wander over the trembling Clara, with an
expression I did not like—at the same time drawing in his
breath, something like a sigh, and puffing it out with the
sentence—“you have lost your way, I think.”

“And why do you think so?” I returned.

“Because you are here, when you should be elsewhere.
I cannot suppose you did me the honor to come here
expressly to see me.”

“You are right, sir; we have missed our way; and
shall be very thankful for any information that will enable
us to get back to our friends. We left Houston a little
before noon, to cross the prairie to a small village called
Centreville—but where we are now, neither of us have
any idea.”

“To the best of my knowledge,” replied the stranger,
“you are about thirty miles from Houston, and at least
twenty from the nearest settlement.”

“Strange, that we could so have missed our way!” I
rejoined. “But in what locality is the nearest settlement?”

“The nearest is on the Brazos, due west from here.”

“Too far to ride to-night,” I returned, “with our tired
horses—therefore we must claim hospitality of you.”

“I had rather you would ride on,” said the stranger,
gruffly. “I like not to associate with my kind.”

“Nor do I,” I replied, sharply, glancing at his costume
in a marked manner, “with such as make beasts of themselves,
in more senses than one; but in this world, I find,
persons have to put up sometimes with things that are
very disagreeable. Surely,” I continued, as the cabin
shook under another crash of thunder, and the rain began
to fall in torrents, “you would not be so inhospitable as
to ask us to leave in such a storm?”

“No,” he answered: “but the storm will not last long,
and there is a moon.”

“But our horses—”

“Oh! they will take us through,” cried Clara, eagerly,
who now spoke for the first time. “They will surely hold
out twenty miles: let us go!”

At the first sound of Clara's voice, our strange host
fixed his large, black eyes upon her; and an expression
came over his countenance that made me tremble—it was
so wild, so sinister, and partook so much of the baser
animal. His dark eye-balls assumed a reddish, fiery cast
—his nostrils expanded—his thick lips slightly parted—
and his whole frame seemed to tremble with brute passion,
partially suppressed.

At one moment I thought him about to spring upon the
speaker, and seek to rend her like a madman; and I took
care to so hold my revolver, that, in the event of such an
attempt, I could interpose effectually.

Fortunately, Clara did not notice his manner; and
when she ceased speaking, he pressed his hands to his
eyes, for a moment—a shudder ran through his frame—
and when I beheld his face again, it seemed more calm
and composed than at any time since his entrance.

“She says well,” he said; “instinct, if not reason,
should teach her to fear her worst enemy. She desires to
go and I pray to be delivered from temptation. I am a
curse to myself, a wo to my fellow man, and a living disgrace
to my name and race. There are times when a
child could lead me to humble myself before the Cross of
the Redeemer—and there are times when the arch-devil
of hell is not more of a demon than I.”

I gazed on this strange being as he spoke; and instinctively
I shrunk back as from a madman; while Clara

clung to me in speechless terror. The awful idea that he
was a maniac, began to chill my blood with horror.

He seemed to read my thoughts, as his large, black
eyes, in their hollow sockets, rolled slowly over my person
and fastened upon my face. A grim smile stole over his
features, and he resumed:

“You think me mad—but alas! you are mistaken.
Would to Heaven I were mad! for then I should not be
accountable for my deeds. But reason is here,” putting
his hand to his forehead; “and conscience here,” removing
it to his heart—“dooming me to unutterable
misery.

“You see me here, in this squalid place, afar from
human beings. I sought this spot to avoid my kind;
and with my own hands I built this hovel, where I
thought none would find me. And this I did, that I
might worship God in secret, do penance for my past
transgressions, and avoid temptation. You seem astonished,
as well you may be. It is not likely you ever
before gazed upon a wretch like me, or ever will again.
I hope not; for the old proverb, that `misery likes company,'
finds no hold in my heart.

“No,” he continued, sadly, “bad as I am, I wish mankind
well; and that I may do my kind no more wrong,
have I left the haunts of men, I trust forever. Would
you believe it, sir? I was well born, and well educated—
had once many friends and kindred, who looked upon me
with pride, and who even thought that I would be an
honor to my name. Alas! how little they knew me.
Passion—wild, uncontrollable passion—led me to destruction.
In an evil moment I—”

At this instant a crash of thunder interrupted his
speech. He started, and looking wildly around, exclaimed:

“You see the very elements would cut short a confession
from which you would shrink with horror! Thank
God! I have not made it!”

He seated himself, and burying his face in his hands,
rocked to and fro, muttering words to himself which I did
not understand.

“As soon as the storm is over, Clara, we will go,” I
said, in a low tone, to my fair companion—“for I would
rather trust myself alone on the plain, than here, in such
company.”

“Oh! yes, let us go—he terrifies me!” she answered,
still clinging to me, and keeping her eyes on the object of
her dread.

The lightning was now playing around us vividly—the
thunder rolled and crashed—and the rain, driven fiercely
by the blast, beat hard against our earthen tenement, and
soaking through the turf, or pouring through the crevices,
began to wet the ground under our feet. It was a dreary,
dismal scene within, and a fearful night without. I
thought of our horses, and felt very uneasy lest they
might break loose and leave ns, and thus sadly increase
the disagreeableness of our situation. I dared not venture
out to them, and leave Clara alone with the stranger,
and I could not think of exposing her delicate frame to
the peltings of the storm.

At length it occurred to me that perhaps the stranger
would see to them, and I thus addressed him:

“Sir! you have said you are anxious we should leave
you! and the moment this storm is over we will do so,
provided our horses do not get away from us. I left them
fastened to the bushes—could I presume on your kindness
to see if they are still there?”

He raised his head, with an air of offended pride, and
replied, sharply:

“Am I a hostler, sirrah? Why go you not your
self?”

“Because of my companion, whom I neither wish to
leave nor take with me.”

“Ah! true,” he rejoined, softening his tone: “I understand.
Yes, I will go—for what care I for the storm?—
it will hardly spoil these garments;” and with a grim
smile he went out.

“Oh! let us begone from here, Mr. Walton—do!” cried
Clara, in a trembling tone, as the other disappeared.
“Heavens! what an awful being!—and how wicked he
looks at us!”

“Do not seem to fear him,” I replied; “and do not, in
reality, be alarmed. I have my weapons safe, and he
shall not harm you.”

In a few minutes the stranger returned.

“I have brought your horses to the door,” he said:
“they will be safer here: but do you not think they would
be better for a little corn?”

“If you have any for them, I will pay you well for it,”
said I.

“Pay!” he replied, again drawing himself up proudly.
“I keep no hostelry, sir! I give—I do not sell! Pay,
indeed! I would not touch your vile coin, that `root of all
evil,' except to cast it from me, and say, `Get thee
behind me, Satan!' ”

With this he approached the dried grass before mentioned
as serving for a bed, pushed it aside, raised a flat
stone, and from a small cavity thus disclosed, took out
several ears of corn. As he passed the slab-table, on his
way to the horses, he laid a couple of the ears upon it;
and on his return he pointed to them, with another grim
smile, and said:

“You see, my guests, your horses fare as well as your

host. This is my evening meal. Come, will you not join
me?”

I thanked him, but politely declined the tempting offer
of eating dried corn in the kernel.

“Perhaps you do not like the way in which it is served
up,” he resumed, with a touch of sarcastic humor; “but
Dame Nature has a way of her own in these matters; and
though it is generally believed that she succeeded in
pleasing our first parents, yet we moderns, having become
very fastidious, are continually devising means to make
improvements on what was before perfect, and tickle our
palates to our own detriment. Did man take things more
as Nature gives them to him, he would be longer lived, and
have less need of poisonous drugs.”

As he spoke, he raked off a large mouthful of the kernels
with his teeth, and began to chew them.

“And so,” said I, somewhat amused, and willing to
humor this singular being, “you think our food should be
devoured as Nature gives it to us?”

“Undoubtedly, in most cases,” he replied. “Do
animals prepare their food? and yet how seldom do you
see animals require medicine!”

“And would you have intellectual man do as the
brutes?”

“I would have him as wise as the brutes, sir, in the
matter of eating, so as to preserve his health. I am an
advocate, sir, for natural simplicity, in food and dress, as
you can perceive.”

“Yes,” returned I, “it is easily seen that art has but
little to do with your way of living. But though I were
certain, that, by following your example, I should add a
score of years to life, I do not think the temptation would
be sufficient to make me a disciple of your school.”

“No, you are like the generality of mankind—fond of

luxury, ease, and pleasure,” he rejoined, with something
like a sneer. “Go your way, sir, to destruction!—live a
quick life, and get a speedy death.”

As I made no reply to this, he proceeded to devour his
corn, washing it down with water from the cup, and
occasionally muttering to himself.

Having finished his meal, he laid his bare arms on the
table, and rested his face upon them. In this position he
remained for half an hour, I saying nothing to disturb his
reverie.

By this time the fury of the storm was spent; and
eager to get away, we began to move toward the door to
remount our horses. He heard our steps, I suppose; for
he started up rather quickly, saying:

“Are you going?”

“Yes,” I replied, “we are about to leave you, with
many thanks for your kindness, since you will accept of
nothing more substantial.”

“How beautiful!” he exclaimed, again fixing his gaze
on the terrified Clara, while the same wild, fiery expression
began to gleam from his dark eyes. “But go! go!” he
added, quickly: “take her from my sight!—deliver me
from temptation! In Heaven's name, go!”

Clara needed no further urging; and ere the words
were fairly out of his mouth, she had vanished through the
door-way—while I merely loitered a moment, to cover her
retreat.

Our hermit host, however, showed no disposition to
follow us; but resumed his seat at the table, the instant
Clara was out of sight.

Seeing this, I made any thing but a slow exit, not
knowing how soon some troublesome freak might seize
upon this worthy advocate of natural simplicity.

It was still raining; but the body of the storm had

passed over; and a streak of clear sky in the west, with
broken clouds overhead, their edges silvered by the rays
of the moon, seemed to assure us we should have fair
weather soon, and a delightful night above us, whatever
might be our fortune below.

We found our horses at the door, and were quickly in
the saddles; and then I experienced a feeling of security,
to which, for the last hour, I had been a stranger.

I now called to the Hermit, and inquired the most
direct route to the nearest settlement.

“I told you once, due west,” he answered, in a gruff
tone, from within.

“Are yonder woods the timber lands of the Brazos?” I
inquired.

The answer being in the affirmative, we were on the
point of starting our horses forward through the bushes,
when Clara exclaimed, in a low, eager tone:

“Hark! what is that?”

I listened, and heard a dull, rumbling sound, which at
first I thought to be distant thunder. But the noise,
instead of dying away, seemed to draw nearer; and my
next conjecture was, that it was a stampede of wild horses.

As the sound still continued to become more audible, I
was fearful some of the animals might rush through the
thicket; and to protect ourselves, we drew close up
against the hut, on the southern side.

Scarcely had we done so, when a number of the animals
seemed to be rushing past us, to the right and left, outside
of the thicket; and the next moment our ears were greeted
with a series of diabolical yells, that appalled us with
horror, and sent the blood curdling to our hearts.